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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29445267">Hold me through the night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrithingBeneathYou/pseuds/WrithingBeneathYou'>WrithingBeneathYou</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Naruto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, BDSM without proper understanding, Consensual Violence, Lessons learned, M/M, Vulnerability</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:02:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29445267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrithingBeneathYou/pseuds/WrithingBeneathYou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The physical dominance is good. It’s exactly what Tobirama asked for in a hundred ways just short of begging.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>171</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hold me through the night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt fill for the Kink meme, day 12, aftercare. </p><p>Fair warning, the beginning depicts consensual violence.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tobirama slams against the wards so hard his head snaps back. The impact scatters his reason and blurs the shadows set deep into Madara’s rictus grin. He wants to be run down. Pulled apart. Everything in him screams to be disseminated down to his basest instincts until nothing remains but this—fists, teeth, blood, and bones.</p><p>Simple truths.</p><p>The feel of bruises from Madara’s knuckles throb with heat now that they’ve fallen to grappling like beasts. Tobirama is strong—so unerringly strong—but his whipcord build folds under Madara’s more substantial mass. He’s trapped. Caged like an animal with no other recourse but to succumb. Blood wells hot and heavy from the split in his lip just as it does from the superficial cuts where his obi flaps loose, shredded by a kunai.</p><p>He lashes out blindly and gets a solid handful of hair, intending to fight pain with pain. Unfortunately, Madara has a sharp intellect and sharper instincts. He slaps Tobirama across the front of the bicep so hard he loses his hold, grunting at the bolt of agony. Fingers tingling, he falls flat on his back with a thick waist slamming between his thighs as if by right. The ceiling fills with motes of darkness and the victorious glint of a Sharingan.</p><p>Perfect.</p><p>“How’s this for ‘unpredictable’?” Madara hisses in his face, pressing his forearm against Tobirama’s throat. He laughs—a rough, broken sound—and leans forward until the room begins to spin. “Never know what Uchiha are going to do, right? So, tell me, Senju, now that I’ve proven those rumors true, what does the village ‘really need’?”</p><p>Tobirama grunts, trying and failing to twist out from beneath the crushing hold. The physical dominance is good. It’s exactly what he asked for in a hundred ways just short of begging. This line of questioning is a little too raw of a wound, though—one that never truly healed for all that it happened three years ago.  </p><p>Chuckling darkly, Madara slams him flat and drags white knuckles down between his exposed pectorals, drawing out a piercing cry from a man who practices restraint in all things. The pain is unbearable. It steals Tobirama’s breath and leaves him begging soundlessly for whatever shreds of mercy Madara will deign to give. As that same hand rips the last of his kosode ties and sets on his hakama with intent, Tobirama realizes that mercy won’t be making a visit to the Uchiha clan home tonight.</p><p>“You’re awfully quiet,” Madara observes, cheeks flushed and breath coming quicker. “Don’t tell me you’ve run out of things to say. Go on, tell me what the village needs.” One clean jerk and the straps of Tobirama’s hakama unravel.</p><p>“Does it need your brother as Hokage?” he presses. “Or…”</p><p>There’s a dangerous pause as he wrenches the hakama down past the swell of Tobirama’s buttocks and further, viciously tugging them down his thighs.</p><p>“…do you think it needs me gone?”</p><p>Tobirama chokes on all of the words he wants to say. Professions that he was mistaken—that he was a fool to approach his Anija with unsubstantiated rumor in the first place. The village needs Madara.</p><p><em>He</em> needs Madara.</p><p>No other bonfire chakra can ravage his heart so completely. For the past three years, licking flames have reached out to tear at his resolve without recourse and fill the hollowness in him with overwhelming light. It’s just that he can’t admit it outright. He’s too stubborn. Too proud. He thought allowing himself to be broken down and laid bare like this would make professions of love come more easily. Instead, the reminder of past regrets only makes the confession harder.</p><p>It’s impossible to force out so much as a glottal click to show that he’s trying to speak—struggling to heal a wound he tore open in the first place. Balking even now, he stays silent for too long.</p><p>“Fine,” Madara says darkly.</p><p>He rears back and wrenches Tobirama’s legs up and together to hang over one of his broad shoulders. The position allows Tobirama a desperate gasp of air—the first in twenty years. He swallows past the agony of what was almost a crushed throat. Sage, he’s a shinobi, trained to withstand pain, but nothing has ever hurt so badly as the violence in Madara’s words, playacted as it is.  </p><p>Gloves stroke down his thighs with faux gentleness, then Madara abruptly folds him in half, taking back the ground he had given and making sure to reclaim what precious air Tobirama stole. There’s a ruthless squeeze, sure to stain Tobirama’s buttock purple and black in the shape of Madara’s hand, then the suggestion of a different flavor of violence pressing against his perineum.    </p><p>“I won’t stay where I’m not wanted, but I’m going to give you something to remember before I go,” Madara rumbles, field rations on his breath.</p><p>Without warning, he bears down on Tobirama’s throat again and abruptly penetrates him with two fingers. No warning, no telegraphing his intent. There’s slickness at the very least, but that’s all the clemency Tobirama is afforded. It burns to be stretched so brutally, with knuckles slamming in him and against his buttocks like a punch. He digs furrows in the forearm pressing down on his throat. He clenches his teeth to bite back a yelp, failing with aplomb. In the end, his tense attempt at restraint only makes it worse.</p><p>The pressure verges on unbearable.  </p><p>“I’m going to carve myself so deep,” Madara intones.</p><p>Another finger, another strangled scream.</p><p>“So fucking deep that every step you take is going to be a stroke in my name. You’ll walk a prayer every hour of every day and think of me. Not your brother. Not Izuna. Not this damned village. <em>Me</em>.”</p><p>He twists his wrist sharply enough to tear loose a shock of what should be pleasure but falls short of the mark.</p><p>“Even when I’m gone, you’ll feel the ghost of my cock and know exactly who it is that owns you.”</p><p>Tobirama gapes, wide-eyed and gasping. Hot tears slip down his cheeks as the ceiling begins to rock and waver. He’s crying. Sage, why is he crying? There’s none of the desire he thought he would feel from being dominated and destroyed—only a coldness spreading out from his fingers and toes to settle in his gut.</p><p>He all but demanded this illusion, but there’s no satisfaction to be had in facing down his own husband with words wielded the same as fists, much less being made to imagine a future without him. This isn’t what he wanted. Not at all. They should have spoken at length before trying something so new. There should have been ground rules and…and…he doesn’t quite know what else, can only see the vague outline of everything he failed to make clear.  </p><p>“Tobirama?” Madara calls, slowing to a stop. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Tobirama lies placid and broken beneath him. Fat tears continue to sear another set of seals down his temples. Words are so far beyond him right now they might as well not exist. All he wanted was a way to say ‘I love you’—a way to express himself without reservation.  </p><p>In an instant, the gloves are gone, as is the genjutsu, and Madara is there cupping his jaw like he’s something precious. The madness is absent from his eyes, replaced by a level of concern Tobirama has only seen once before—when Madara thought his brother mortally wounded before realizing Tobirama had used the flat of his blade.</p><p>Being the recipient of that regard is almost as wretched as being savaged by the threat of Madara walking away from their village.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Tobirama chokes out instead of answering. “I overestimated my…” He clamps his teeth down instead of admitting to his self-proclaimed failure. Even now, vulnerability is a cliff face he simply can’t scale.</p><p>Somehow, Madara reads it in him anyways. “Stop,” he commands, keeping his voice low and his manner mild. “I took it too far. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He helps to ease Tobirama up and against his side to where they can lean against the wall with their legs outstretched and tangled on a futon made for two.</p><p>Tobirama’s intact yukata pulls at him, too hot and too constricting by far.</p><p>“I requested the genjutsu,” he protests.</p><p>Mouth pressed thin, Madara intercepts another tear as it’s set loose by gravity. He kisses away the ghost of its passing and allows his lips to linger. “I made it too tangible,” he insists.</p><p>Which is beyond ridiculous. Madara is the strongest dōjutsu user of them all and Tobirama was well aware temperance wasn’t in his purview when he asked to be broken in the first place. “I wanted it to feel real,” he reiterates.</p><p>“And I know better than to listen to you.”</p><p>Tobirama inhales sharply, but allows that truth to go uncontested. His husband is right, after all—there’s always been a disconnect between the words they say and the affections they feel. Unmoored, they sit close, wrapped in each other’s embrace in a way neither would ever allow in the daylight.</p><p>A solitary oil lantern flickers across their bedroom. Unfinished scrolls cast shadows on the desktop beneath it. They’re plans for an academy, one that wouldn’t have been possible without his husband’s wild manner and roaring baritone set loose before the committee of clan heads.</p><p>The combination of the memory and the genuine care wrapped around him finally allow Tobirama to stop holding his breath. This is his husband—his safety net, he reminds himself.</p><p>Madara cards through Tobirama’s hair and brushes it away from his forehead. “It looked like you were enjoying the fighting.” He pauses in consideration. “Was it the abandoning the village thing?”</p><p>Tobirama nods. “It was.” The arm around his hip tightens and Madara cups his cheek to bring them together in a gentle kiss. For all that those hands have brought death to multitudes, they’ve also fashioned a home for Tobirama’s heart. He sinks into the rare show of tenderness.</p><p>“You know I’d never actually leave,” Madara murmurs against his lips.  </p><p>And since the real answer is obviously not the one Madara is expecting, Tobirama keeps his peace. Of course, there’s always the possibility. There’s no telling what the future will bring and Uchiha are obsessive in their love, both romantic and platonic. Tobirama has never managed to reaffirm the bond between them in either sense, so why would he reap the benefit of that security? He had hoped tonight he could find a way to express himself through the genjutsu. To carve his intentions in stone as he should have in his wedding vows.</p><p>He looks away. The silence stretches out too long.</p><p>“Tobirama?”</p><p>Madara traces the seal on Tobirama’s chin and urges him to turn back and face him. “<em>Koibito</em>,” he says, sounding like he just took a punch. “You do realize how deeply I care for you, right?” Another stretch of quiet without response has him shifting to bring Tobirama onto his lap. It takes a little maneuvering and a touch of strength, but they manage to slot together chest-to-chest with next to no space between them. “I would destroy the world if you were ever taken away. I love you, you ridiculous man.”</p><p>Another kiss, with a touch of desperation this time. Madara clutches Tobirama’s lower back and cradles the back of his head to bring them together—close enough to share one skin. His breath comes hot and heavy even as his fingers claw in deep.</p><p>Tobirama folds under his strength even quicker than he had in the genjutsu.</p><p>“I…appreciate the reminder,” he gasps. Like this, knowing it’s real, he thinks he can manage to reciprocate a small truth. “And—ah—and I feel the same.”</p><p>Madara breaks away to lip at his neck. “Try again,” he rumbles.</p><p>“Excuse me?” Tobirama chokes out, grunting at a particularly sharp press of teeth. Everything between them is soft even with the ache. Maybe because of it.</p><p>“Say it like you mean it.” This time Madara buries his face in the crook of Tobirama’s shoulder and sets his jaw—unforgiving in his power. The jolt of pain anchors soul deep.</p><p>“I will not,” Tobirama pants, head dropping to the side to give his husband everything.</p><p>“Tell me you love me.”</p><p>“Go swallow an exploding tag.”</p><p>Madara chuckles, his amusement rocking them both. “That a new euphemism?” he drawls, voice gentled in direct contrast to the bruises he threatens to carve into Tobirama’s skin. “Come on, three little words.”</p><p>Little in terms of syllabic count, but certainly not in the world-changing effect they’ll have once loosed. It’s like forcing new chakric paths for an affinity he’s heard about, but has never seen in practice. “I hate you,” he hisses.</p><p>“There you go. You’ve got two out of the three. One more shouldn’t be so hard.”</p><p>Vexatious asshole.</p><p>“Sage’s balls, I love you, you deplorable beast! Happy? I want you, I need you, and I love you with everything I am,” Tobirama explodes, collapsing against Madara’s chest and sinking into his warmth, his arms, and his acceptance. He feels emptied by the confession, but also whole for the first time in his life.</p><p>Madara’s mouth and hands turn kind once more. “I know,” he says simply, stroking away the blows he had landed under the veil of a genjutsu. “If you want to try this again, next time we’ll make sure we do things right. You’ll talk and I’ll listen for a change.”</p><p>Yes. Next time. Tobirama’s eyes flutter shut knowing that there will be a <em>next time</em>. For now, this sweetness is what he needs to heal. He sinks into Madara’s embrace, content to be held and protected for as long as they can keep the world away.</p><p>Their hearts fall into sequence after a time.</p><p>Two beating as one.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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